


The Rescue

by DixieDale



Series: The Life and Times of One Peter Newkirk [11]
Category: Garrison's Gorillas, Hogan's Heroes, Meghada O'Donnell - Fandom
Genre: In sequence for this Saga, out of sequence for the GG stories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-08 23:56:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14705204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: New enemies, old enemies combine to make it a rough ride for both the Heroes and Garrison and his team.  Mix in a little jealousy and deep-seated resentment, a little lust and a new attraction, a surprise meeting between old acquaintences, well, there's as much action down in the tunnels as in the camp above.  There's some music to smooth things out, and a few stories told, to the blushes of one English Corporal, one little English pickpocket drops another of his masks with a resounding THUD, and no one there would be forgetting this Rescue, not for a long, long time!





	The Rescue

**Author's Note:**

> Spoiler Alert! This story is posted here in its proper sequence in the Hogan's Heroes saga, though out of sequence under the Garrison's Gorillas stories, because of the timelines - therefore, there are Spoilers for the Garrison's Gorilla fans. Use your own discretion about reading; after all, it'll be about another forty GG stories (I'll try to post two a day) before THAT SIDE catches up to this point! And really, is it surprising that they'd come into contact - two such off-beat groups of men, fighting the same war, working the same territory at times? Even without the O'Donnell connection, it just seems inevitable. And as for Colonel Pryor's disparaging language toward Kinch, seems just like something he'd say; he never was a very nice person, just ask Chief and the rest of the Garrison team - he really deserved that punch in the face Garrison gave him in that one episode.

.  
Garrison and the team were in Germany, near Berlin, when they received a message from their underground contact; there was a situation with one of the resident teams near Hammelburg, and they were requesting assistance. Interestingly enough, the request seemed to have come through Clan O'Donnell, not London HQ. Papa Bear, the leader of the group, was injured, along with one of his four-person command team, two others had been captured by a rogue group, and the one remaining free and uninjured was requesting any possible aid with utmost urgency. As their own mission had gone smoothly, everyone unscathed for a change, and they were so close, it made sense, and when Meghada had heard the code name Papa Bear, she had been quick to let Garrison know that the leader and his command team were all on the Clan Friends and Family list. (That was a bit of a stretch, of course; one member of his team was on the Family list, three were on the Friends list, and Hogan was just sort of there by association. They didn't actually claim him, but they didn't disclaim him either. Yes, things were complicated.) That settled it; Garrison and his men had reaped their own benefits from being on that list, more than once.

They reached the rendezvous point, and were met by a surprisingly young man with light brown hair and anxious eyes. Once they descended into the tunnel under the prisoner of war camp, Andrew Carter introduced himself, and was accepting their names in return when he caught his first real look at the young woman; his eyes went wide with shock, "Caeide?? What are you doing here?"

"Sorry, lad, wrong sister. I'm Meghada, here again, and I'm running with this lot," she smiled gently at him, "Can you tell us what has happened?"

"Well, I can, but I think I'd better let Colonel Hogan know you're here first. And Meghada, the Colonel, well, I don't think he and Caeide got along so well together, so just, well, kinda be prepared if he ignores you or . . ."

"Yes, I know about Colonel Hogan, and I expect he won't be too pleased to see me; well, his moods aren't the issue right now, are they?" {"If young Andrew is on the Command team, as I think he is, then the Professor is either injured or captured, she thought to herself; well, we'll know soon enough."} 

Andrew led them thru the tunnel, so empty now that Kinch wasn't here to work the radio, and up thru the trap door under the bunk, and into Hogan's quarters. Both he and LeBeau were situated here for now, and the team crowded into the small room. Rousing the Colonel from a fevered doze, Andrew made the introductions; as expected, other than a hard look, the girl was ignored. Garrison wondered what was up with that, but stuck to the business at hand.

Hogan motioned to Andrew to tell the tale; he'd fill in any spots he felt he should, but really needed to conserve his strength. He wasn't even sure LeBeau was fully conscious yet. 

.  
Hogan and his command team (Peter Newkirk, Andrew Carter, Louis LeBeau and James Kinchloe, known as Kinch) had been investigating a wild tale circulating of a rogue commando group in the hills. It made no sense; the targets hit by the group were not strategic, London had claimed no knowledge of any such group, and the underground had been targeted once or twice themselves by this group. While it was unusual for all members of Hogan's group to be out and about at the same time, it did happen; unfortunately, this time had proved disasterous.

They'd been caught in a crossfire when just approaching the suspect area; it was just ill luck that a sentry had moved into the brush to answer a call of nature and spotted them. Hogan had been hit; Louie and Andrew were directed to get him back to camp, with Peter and Kinch forming a rear protective guard. Before they made it halfway, a third contingent had broke onto their flank, capturing Peter and Kinch, and wounding Louie in the process. By some miracle, Andrew was able to get both wounded men back into the tunnels and summon Wilson to tend them; he headed back out to try and see where his friends, his team mates had been taken, and he could find the trail, but it disappeared into the hills. He found disturbing evidence that one or both of them had been injured, though, which only increased his already racheted up anxiety.

Returning to the camp, he thought long and hard, and contacted London for help; he received none, pretty much what he had expected; he had had his few illusions about the dependability of London HQ squashed before. He'd also been told to NOT involve the Underground, that they were busy with other issues, especially since Hogan, Papa Bear, was safely back at the camp. That truly pissed Andrew off, though he tended not to be a guy who got that way too often. Still, London thinking Peter and Kinch were expendable, well, that really sucked!

Then, knowing the Colonel would be furious with him, shrugging that off as being inevitable, he did the unthinkable. He pulled out the secret frequency Caeide had given them, hooked up the amplifier that would allow the transmitter to reach the Clan, and put out a call for help. He waited, anxiously, til the word came back; there was a team in the area, one that had agreed to try and help. Between checking with Wilson on the Colonel and LeBeau, and trying to write down everything he could remember about this situation, getting the relevant maps together, he passed the time til he was to go meet the team at the rendezvous point.

If he was relieved to see the hard, competent-looking group of men, he was astonished and just as happy to see the smiling woman with them; he had a sincere liking and healthy respect for Caeide O'Donnell, Peter's old friend and protege. His astonishment increased when he found himself being re-introducted to her sister, instead, the one who'd come in with the supply shipment during their emergency. He thought it best to warn her, though, about Colonel Hogan. For some reason, the Colonel didn't much like Peter's friend and her family; Andrew never totally understood why, or at least he didn't let himself dwell on it, but he knew it wouldn't be a pleasant meeting. 

In Hogan's quarters, Andrew told Lieutenant Garrison everything he knew; by then LeBeau was sort of awake and listening, but neither he nor Hogan really had anything to add. Andrew pulled out the map of the area, and checked with the underground via the radio to see if they had any new information. The underground had a man who had seen activity to the west, in the mountains, and it was decided that the team would accompany Andrew to try to search them out. Actor, of all of them, would remain behind; Wilson was ready to drop, and the injured needed all the medical skills Actor could come up with.

Finding the rogue camp wasn't so difficult; Chief had been able to track them to a group of caves near the base of the mountains, and by working around, had found intersecting openings so that they could come up unawares. There it got complicated; their small band split up, to have a better chance of catching the rogues in a pincer maneuvre, and it would have had a good chance of working if a sudden rock fall had not blocked the Lieutenant, Chief and Casino from coming straight through. When Andrew, Goniff and Megheda reached the main camp, they waited for the others, but to no avail.

Down below they could see a small group of men, and heaped in a corner, two limp bound bodies, presumably the two missing members of Hogan's team. When one of the group below walked over to the two men and started kicking them, trying to rouse them, then another joined to start kicking and slapping them, it was too much, Garrison's whereabouts or not. Meghada sent the other two around to the left, she took the right, and quickly efficiently, they disposed of the enemy. 

They quickly though cautiously made their way to the two men on the ground. Andrew was frantic at the sight of his two friends; Peter was barely conscious, sluggishly bleeding from a gunshot to his side, bruised and battered. Kinch was sporting a torn lip, and several open cuts to his face, and held himself as if his ribs were in serious trouble. Megheda figured they were ALL in serious trouble; no sign of Garrison and the others, two of her current group unable to travel under their own speed; she knew she, Goniff and Andrew wouldn't be able to get them both out of here on their own, not with any kind of speed. And, if they didn't show, there was still the rest of the team to locate, maybe rescue!

Leaving the others behind, she made a quick sortee of the tunnels surrounding this small camp; she knew there had to be a much bigger camp, or maybe a group of smaller camps around, and she had to use caution not to stumble upon one of them. Finally, she found a small opening, well above the cave floor, one main opening not visible from below, and a small tunnel leading off to the side, but soon meeting up with the tunnel they'd used to come in the first time. Heading back below, she quickly organized the men; it was a slow, very painful process, but eventually the two wounded men and the three others were huddled in the small opening. She figured they could shelter there, one man guarding each entrance, while she went in search of the other team members; she didn't like splitting the group, but she knew she had to have help. She headed back down, doing her best to erase any evidence of their trail, then planting a false trail to draw off any searchers.

**  
Garrison was intent on clearing the rockfall; though none of his team were seriously injured, just a bruised shoulder for Casino, and a cut on the forehead for Chief, it had stopped them from meeting up with the rest of the team. Finally, he realized any progress they made was swept away by the new fall of debris every time he thought they were making headway. Giving up, they turned around and rushed back to the entrance, and made their way to the tunnel used by Andrew and the others. No, it wouldn't be a pincer movement, but they had to deal with what was possible, not what the original plan had said. Truth be known, that happened often enough for them to have become accustomed to dealing with it. Hopefully, they would get there in time to help!

**

Meghada came across another group of the rogues, just three this time, guarding two prisoners. After a moments thought, she took out the three guards, and freed the prisoners. One was a stranger to her, as she would have expected; shockingly, the other was not! Colonel Pryor! What the hell was he doing here; he was supposed to be in a military stockade awaiting court martial! He sneered at her, she scowled at him, the other prisoner just looked from one to the other of them.

"Can we get out of here now??", the stranger burst out, being pretty much ignored.

"Oh, yeah, you weren't expecting to see me again, were you? Well, HQ knows how valuable I am; they aren't going to fall for the shit you pulled, trying to get me put away. I was out by the time you probably sat down to dinner with those cons you thinks so much about!" Pryor spewed forth.

Meghada quickly filed all that away for later. Yes, time enough later for figuring out why he'd ended up here; for now, she had two more able bodied men at her disposal, and that'd hopefully be enough to get her crew out. 

Telling both of them to follow her, she led the way quickly back to the small cave, alerting Goniff with a faint whistle that she was coming. He pulled back to let her pass, startled at her company, then, once he recognized Pryor, wide eyed with shock.

Andrew just stared; her turning up with strangers was odd enough, but she and the Brit seemed to know at least one of them, which really didn't make any sense, especially the antagonism rolling off all three of them.

After checking on Peter and Kinch once again, she was relieved to see Peter coming around, enough for him to recognize her, at least somewhat, as incredulous as he was to see one of the Clan here. While he knew she wasn't Caeide, and even though she had studied with him for a few months, she didn't expect him to know specifically WHO she was; he'd trained more than just her and her sister, and there wasn't a hair difference between most of the O'Donnell women, as long as they were within the same general age group. Peter had first taught her older sister, Caeide, and he was much beloved by her; he had a permanent place on the Friends and Family list (though he hadn't figured out yet, stubbon bloke that he was, that it was on the Family side rather than the Friend side), and was the reason Andrew had had the radio frequency to use to call for help in the first place. It always amused her, in a somewhat bittersweet way, that Peter could always distinguish Caeide from the other Clans women, and them from her, but never figured out just what that meant.

She smiled reassuringly at the tall thin (much too thin!) Englishman on the ground, and said, "Looks like you've walked into trouble again, Professor. You do truly have a talent for it!", and he gave a tiny wheezing laugh in return. {"That wheeze points to more trouble coming; laddie always has had weak lungs; how he tolerates those cigarettes, I'll never know! They can't be good for him. Wish Goniff could see his way clear to giving them up; maybe after the war?"}

Turning to Kinch, she smiled again; "there are more of us out there, somewhere, but I think it best to try to get you and the Professor here back to camp where you can get some treatment before I go looking for them." She turned to Pryor and the other American, who she'd found out was called Lisbert, to organize them, along with Goniff and Andrew into teams to support Peter and Kinch, only to find that Pryor had quietly confiscated Andrew's pistol, by virtue of rank, though Goniff had kept too far away for Pryor to reach, and certainly wasn't going to give up his weapon to this asshole, no matter what orders he might give. Pryor immediately started trying to take control, which she might, no, lets face it, she would NOT have considered letting happen, not with what she knew about the man. 

"Yeah, we're getting out of here alright, me and Lisbert here, you and the kid, okay. But I'm not dragging one of Garrison's cons along anywhere, or the nigger, and the other one's too far gone, he'll just slow us down, so that's a no go too. Come on, you can send someone back for them, if there's anyone left to send, and if they're still here to find, but we're leaving now," Pryor barked. Andrew started to argue, and had to dodge a backhanded blow to his face.

"We're not leaving them here! They're the reason we came in the first place, and you can't . . ."

"Look here, boy, I'm a Colonel, you're what, a Tech Sargeant? I give the orders, not you."

"You're a screw, and a dirty one at that," Goniff snarled, "and we're not taking orders from the likes of you!" 

"Look, Pryor, we need to discuss this; together we can all get out of here; we need all of us, we can figure out the personality differences later."

Unfortunately, Meghada had moved over to the front opening to see if there was any sign of Garrison and the team, or the other rogues, when Pryor took two long strides and heaved a boot at Peter's head, catching him off guard and giving him a glancing blow to the temple; considering he was trying for a killing blow, it was lucky Kinch had seen the move and rolled over his friend, blocking much of the force. Pryor started another kick, this time aimed at Kinch, and Meghada and Goniff both reached him, pulling him away, thrusting him hard up against the cave wall, and Andrew forced his way between the Colonel and his friends on the ground, determined to protect them no matter what it took.

Meghada had her revolver in hand, "come on, Pryor, we had better discuss this elsewhere; somewhere you can keep your mind on the business at hand." She didn't, couldn't take the time to check on Peter or Kinch, or divert her attention to Goniff or Andrew. Goniff started to protest, but a quick knowing look from the woman had him back down. "Take care of them, will you, till we get back?"

"I ain't going anywhere with you and those frickin big knives of yours, bitch," Pryro snarled, remembering her 'visuals' from the meeting in Garrison's office. Telling Goniff to cover Pryor, she stepped back and quickly removed both knives from their sheaths, over Goniff's protests.

"Take care of those for me, too, and don't follow us; I'm depending on you," her eyes meeting his, telling him everything she wanted him to know, just in case she didn't make it back. Revolver again pointed at Pryor, she motioned him down the tunnel, over to rocky area leading to another small opening.

"What is it with you and those slum Brits, woman? First that con, then the one on the floor in there, you fucking every one that comes your way??"

"No, actually the one on the floor belongs to my sister; I don't think she'd appreciate your trying to take his head off, but I'll let her take that up with you sometime. I'll enjoy watching that. Listen up, Colonel, you have only one decision to make: either you decide to cooperate and we all get out of here together, or we get out of here without you. Decide, but decide quick!"

Goniff had gone stiff, torn between what needed to be done here, and his need to follow and help the woman, if she needed help. Knowing her she probably wouldn't need help, but he knew Pryor too. Andrew looked over at him, "give me your revolver," he demanded, then said with a quick grin, "she didn't tell ME not to follow." Goniff gave Andrew a quick assessing look, then turned over his gun to the American, and nodded his thanks.

Andrew had reached the spot where the pair had gone in time to hear their exchange. He didn't intend to make his presence know, unless it was necessary, but when things went south, it happened fast. There wasn't enough room for her to to keep a decent distance from the American Colonel. Pryor decided to force the issue, and struck out, hard, knocking the woman backwards into the wall as he grabbed her arm and twisted; she felt her shoulder slip out of its socket; she'd have to finish this fast! She didn't want to fire the gun in here if it could be avoided; between the danger of drawing attention, a possible cave-in, and ricochet, it just was a very bad idea! She tucked the revolver into its holster, and made for Pryor; {"okay,"} she decided, {"guess he made his decision."} She made a feint to the left, catching him offguard, and with a quick blow, dropped him to his knees; with a quick kick, she accomplished what he'd intended for Peter; his head lolled to one side, his neck snapped. She caught her breath, then after collecting Andrew's revolver and checking the body for any other weapons, with her remaining good arm tried to drag him to the edge of the rocks, to drop him into the crevasse below. He was heavy, she was worn out, and one-handed it was going to be a real struggle.

A voice from behind her startled her, letting her know just how far from being on top of her game she really was, that she hadn't heard him. "Uh, I used to help my Mom with a lot of stuff around the house; I took out the garbage all the time," he said with a slightly wary smile.

"Thanks, Andrew, I could use an experienced hand," she replied gratefully, giving him smile in return.

She wondered if Andrew would say anything, offer any reproaches for her disposal of the Colonel; he was military, after all, even though he was part of Papa Bear's unit. But Andrew had come on the scene just as she'd responded to Pryor's taunts, and when she'd given him the ultimatum. As far as Andrew was concerned, Pryor had made his choice, and after the attack on Peter and Kinch, Andrew just couldn't work up any real concern for the Colonel's fate. He'd just have to be careful how he answered when he was asked about what had happened, that's all. He was also starting to understand part of what the problem was between Colonel Hogan and Caeide, after hearing what Meghada had said to Pryor about Peter belonging to her sister. Well, he'd kinda figured out what the problem was before, but had decided not to think too much about it, and wasn't going to think about it now, either.

By the time Megheda and Andrew made their way back to the group, Goniff was pacing back and forth from one entrance to the other, trying to make sure they weren't surprised. Though what the hell he'd do if they were, he didn't know! He didn't like being in charge, he knew he wasn't good at it, and it was bloody well time someone better qualified showed up to take over! He didn't have a gun, only Meghada's knives, and while he'd worked with them some, he sure wasn't good enough with them to do much damage if more than one person came at him.

Peter was still out cold, Kinch hudddled over him, clutching his newly injured ribs. He continued his pacing, making sure to keep between any possible avenue of attack and the wounded men. He kept glancing at the Englishman on the floor of the cave; was it his imagination, or did he really look familiar? He had seen that Megheda knew him, and then he remembered. {"Cor, it's Peter, Caeide's Peter!"} He was shocked at how ravaged the man looked, remembering him as always being thin, but well setup, handsome. Now, thin, weathered, scars on his face and hands. He took a good look at those hands,{"they're our livelihood, our 'ands"}, wondering just how much had been lost to what the man had gone through. He looked down at his own, knowing that whatever he himself had endured, his hands had survived much better, {"well, at least so far,"} acknowledging the vaguaries of fate, especially in wartime.

A whistle alerted him; Andrew came thru the opening first, revolver in hand, the woman following close behind. One arm hung limp, shoulder tilted in a direction it wasn't meant to go, but the other arm was at her side, gun at the ready.

"The Colonel decided not to come with us. We'll have to make it without him," she said evenly. Goniff gave her a long look, then a nod.

"How bad are you 'urt, luv?", showing just how upset he really was; they just didn't use endearments or make their involvement too obvious in the field, especially in front of what were pretty much strangers, no matter that she seemed to know the other Brit over there, and the others somewhat. Right now, though, he just didn't give a damn, and from the gentle, loving smile that crossed her face, neither did she.

She reassured him, "just the shoulder, it'll wait til we get back." Andrew stood back, letting them have the moment, before he cleared his throat, "uh, so what now?" 

Luckily, that was less of a problem than it might have been. Hearing a rustling in the tunnel, she moved to the opening, and heaved a great sigh of relief.

"Are we glad to see you guys!" Andrew let out a deep sigh of his own, as Garrison and his team moved in. Meghada was equally relieved, was more than happy to let Garrison take command again; she'd never wanted to be a leader, and had worked as an independent operative whenever possible. She'd done her part; he now had fewer moving parts to take into account with several of the rogues out of commission, the missing men found, one extra helper in the person of Lisbert, while Pryor, the one real problem, outside of the other rogues, of course, had been eliminated, though she was careful not to mention Pyror and no one else did either, so Garrison remained blissfully unaware of his presence.

Quickly Garrison organized the exit, Andrew and Lisbert handling Peter, who was still only semi-conscious, Casino and Garrison helping Kinch, who was in somewhat better shape, but probably not by much, Chief taking the lead, Goniff acting as rear guard, her ranging around them like a restless sheepdog guarding her flock, she thought ruefully to herself.

It took them longer than they'd have liked to make it back to camp; they were all on their last legs when they came down the tunnel entrance, but Actor and Wilson were waiting, and took over their injured men. Meghada kept to the rear, now; her injury was the least serious of them all, painful but it could wait.

Once the others had been tended, Goniff whispered to Actor, "she's sprung her shoulder, can you take a look?". Taking a close look at the way she was holding her shoulder and seeing the pain in her eyes, the anxiety in Goniff's eyes, he directed the two, "Meghada, sit here on the floor; Goniff, sit behind her, one arm around her good arm and her waist, the other around her waist to the other side. Meghada, lean back into him." When she did so, Actor smiled a warm, secret smile, and turned her head to rest in the curve of Goniff's neck. "Stay like that for a bit, try to relax, then I'll get that shoulder taken care of."

Wilson frowned in puzzlement. "That doesn't seem like it'd give a lot of support for what you're going to have to do," he said in question. Actor looked back at the pair on the floor of the tunnel, Megheda now firmly wrapped in Goniff's arms, nestled into him.

"That depends upon the type of support you are attempting," he said quietly, and Wilson took another look. The Englishman had his tousled blond head next to hers, seemed to be murmuring something to her; she was rubbing her forehead against his neck, with an occasional, very discrete brush of her lips following.

"Oh," said Wilson, with a smile of his own, "I see what you mean."

The unpleasantness was soon over, her shoulder painful and throbbing, but at least back securely in its joint. Soon all were resting, both teams together again, damaged but with no losses. If she couldn't say 'all is good', she thought, at least she could honestly say 'it could have been a hell of a lot worse!'

Hogan had now joined them, not that he was really able to be up and about, but this was his camp, his team, and he was uneasy if he wasn't obviously in charge. LeBeau was also able to prop himself up in a corner and pay some heed. They listened, as Garrison and his team, Andrew and Kinch, each told what they knew of the mission; Peter was there, but just lay, listening as best he could, not really feeling like speaking, and really, hadn't much to offer that Kinch couldn't relate just as well, he thought. Lisbert, the prisoner they'd picked up on the way, also added his bit; seems he had been a member of a crew shot down; he and one other were the only survivors, and had been taken prisoner right away. He said it looked like the rogues had been in it for the money, not caring which side they targeted, as long as there was a profit involved.

It was Lisbert, though, who dropped the bombshell.

"What about the Colonel? Are we supposed to go back for him?" hoping that was not the case. He didn't want to move, unless the next move got him on his way back to England. Everyone but Meghada's group and Hogan's men who had been there looked at him in shock.

Garrison exploded, "WHAT Colonel? There's someone else still out there?" Lisbert explained that there was an American Colonel on the plane, and they'd been captured at the same time.

"What happened to him?" Hogan demanded.

"Well, there was this argument with your people here, and it got pretty nasty, and I guess he decided to try his chances on his own. I'm sorry, I don't know any more."

Garrison stared at Goniff with thunder in his face, then looked at Meghada with a look to match. She reacted only with a slight twitch of the mouth, purposely mirroring the look on the small Englishman's, {"Great,"} thought Garrison, {"now they're starting to share facial expressions!"} She gave a tiny smirk, as if reading his thoughts. {"Boy, he is NOT going to like this!"} 

"Seems Colonel Pryor somehow ended up on that plane with Lisbert."

"Pryor??" the guys all reacted loudly. "What the hell?"

Garrison was livid, but he knew his duty, "well, we'll have to drag his ass in here; can't let the Krauts get hold of him."

"That's not necessary, Lieutenant; he's well out of their reach, and not something we need to worry about," she told him calmly, much too calmly. He took another look at her fathomless eyes, her expressonless face and swallowed. 

Hogan took up the questioning, demanding "why didn't he come with you?"

Andrew, looking from one to the other, took a deep breath and spoke up, "he was given the chance, Colonel; he made the decision to go his own way."

"That doesn't make any sense," frowned Hogan.

Andrew replied, "Well, I heard him, he made the decision and it was pretty final. He's well past where we could reach him, Colonel. Trust me, sir, I'm sure," hoping Hogan would continue the questioning in private, if at all. He couldn't let Hogan send anyone out into danger searching for a man he knew was dead; he knew Meghada and Goniff would somehow keep Garrison from doing anything along those lines either. Hogan looked at Andrew, long and hard, and then looked over at Kinch and Peter.

"What do you say to this?" Kinch looked over at Peter, barely holding on to consciousness, remembering what went down, Pryor's words and his actions, and what he suspected had gone down out of his sight, and answered, "he's not someone we need to worry about, Colonel, Andrew's right."

Garrison looked at the two members of his crew who had encountered Pryor; "you agree?".

"Oh, yes sir, Warden," Goniff said earnestly, while Meghada nodded.

Hogan eased himself up, stiffly, "Carter, show our guests to their quarters. Garrison, it's not fancy, but you and your people can get some rest. We'll talk more later. Carter, come back here when you're finished."

He sat down, aching from his own wound, looking at LeBeau, pale and wan; Kinch, bandaged cuts on his face, purpling bruises, anger still in his usually steady eyes; Peter, looking like death warmed over, breathing thin and raspy, huddled in pain; Wilson still moving from one to the other, checking their condition, offering what care he could. When Andrew returned, cautiously, as if he didn't really want to enter the room, he looked up at him and said, "okay, the truth. What happened?"

Then he heard it all. Finding the rogues, Andrew, Goniff and the woman killing the rogues guarding Peter and Kinch, Goniff guarding them while she did a sortee to find a safer spot and then the difficult move to the concealed cave. Again, Goniff on guard with Andrew, while Meghada went to try to locate Garrison's crew, coming up with Pryor and Lisbert instead. Pryor, determined to leave Peter and Kinch behind, along with Garrison's Englishman. Pryor calling Kinch that word, twice. Pryor, attacking Peter and then Kinch viciously. That only because of Kinch's putting himself in the line of attack and getting hurt again had Peter probably survived getting a broken neck or crippling head wound. The woman, turning over her knives, getting Pryor away to try to talk sense, or if Andrew read it right, to come to a fast resolution so they could focus on getting their injured men to safety. Of his following, after she'd made Goniff stay behind to look after the others; his hearing her give Pryor the choice, him attacking her, her killing him without using any weapon at all. Of Andrew helping her roll the body into the cravasse in the rocks. He purposely made no mention of her claiming Peter for her sister; that wouldn't do anyone any good!

He looked at Andrew, weighing his words, knowing Andrew well enough that he wasn't lying to him, though he thought there might be a thing or two he neglected to include in his tale. He looked at Peter, at Kinch, knowing he'd almost lost them, and what was worse, if possible, to one who was supposed to be on their own side, an officer who was supposed to protect the lower ranks. Actually, he'd have lost Andrew as well, as he'd have died protecting his team mates.

"Looks like you're right. Pryor was the ranking officer; if he decided to follow his own path out, guess there wasn't much any of you could have done," he said slowly. He didn't know that he'd be able to bring himself to thank the woman, she looked too much like her sister, but he knew he'd thank Garrison, for coming, for bringing his team to help Papa Bear and his men. That should be good enough; it might have to be. Though he still hadn't been able to get a clear answer as to how they'd actually showed up just in the nick of time.

***

They were sitting, Meghada within the circle of Goniff's warm arms, the notion of keeping their distance in the field seemed to have been inexplicably lost on this strange mission, with seemingly Garrison's rueful, even strangely affectionate, approval, and their team's casual acceptance. Peter's amusement was something he couldn't quite hide, his gaze moving from the woman to the small Englishman to their leader and back again.

Peter was still coming to grips with the fact that he'd just remembered, after a wry comment from the gamin faced blond man, where he'd known Goniff before, back in the East End, before the smaller man had left for the States. They were in the same line, at least partly, and their paths had crossed occasionally. That Internship year in London, Goniff had been that appealing young blond man who usually played poker at The Bull, one Peter had been rather attracted to. Peter was more than a little relieved now that he'd decided to make a play for the brassy barmaid instead, otherwise it could have made things a bit awkward now, especially seeing what he thought he saw in the interaction between Goniff, Meghada and Garrison!

He had to wonder at that, shake his head over the evident ease between them, given what he knew about Hogan's jealousy at even the thought of a possible rival. He was a bit concerned even now; he though Hogan might have figured out the connection between the three of them as well, at least suspected it, though he'd bet Hogan was reading it wrong, not as a partnership, but as a rivalry. He wasn't sure Hogan could even begin to comprehend the reality; he also knew Hogan didn't think straight where the O'Donnell women were concerned.

And to make matters worse, Hogan was suspicious of the fact that Peter and Goniff knew each other; Peter was more thankful than ever that it'd been just an acquaintance, nothing more. He'd been able to explain that connection, tennuous as it was, truthfully and cheerfully when Hogan had asked, knowing his commander would get the same explanation if he asked his questions of Garrison's man. Yes, if Hogan saw the three as a rivalry, he'd think to exploit that somehow, and Peter knew that would mean trouble. Hogan, though a brilliant man in many regards, just didn't understand who he was dealing with. The woman was Clan, never to be taken for granted, never to be discounted, and Goniff? You didn't survive in the East End, especially if you were rather small, with that appealing blond hair, those blue eyes, and engaging grin, by being just a happy go lucky clown; Hogan wasn't seeing the small man for what he was, what he had to be, which was foolish in the extreme.

Somehow, the subject of music as a means for soothing, for aiding in letting someone sleep, heal arose. Looking back, Peter thought Andrew might have started it, remarking on the songs Meghada had sung, and on the tradition among the Lakota Sioux for something similar as a part of healing. As for Meghada, she'd sung more than once the past couple of days, with the men being injured and restless, at Peter's request, and they'd all found it surprisingly soothing. Peter fondly recounted the songs Caeide had sung that year in London, especially when he'd been so ill and couldn't sleep.

Hogan was decidedly uncomfortable at his tale, but kept his silence. His men didn't understand his dislike of the girl or her sister, and there was nothing to gain in explaining, if he even could. It'd just make him look foolish, if not worse. She'd done nothing but good for the team, after all.

Still, he couldn't believe Garrison letting that woman and the little blond thief snuggle together like that, right out in front of everyone! And the looks he kept giving them, well, he was keeping his eye on them for sure; probably one of them was really his, the other, someone they were using to disguise the fact that the officer was involved with one of his team members; who knows, maybe the one he was involved in was running a dual game, it could happen. Garrison really should know better than to let a third person in the game, should know better than get involved with one of those O'Donnell women. He was appealing though, with those green eyes; maybe he'd get together with him before they left, give him some guidance, warn him of the dangers, that sort of thing. Yes, one officer to another, that would work. Hmmmmm.

Peter was holding forth, "I'd run into a spot of trouble, trouble she'd 'ad to drag me out of, literally, mind you! which didn't 'elp me pride any a bit.. Unlike me, in either regard I know, but there it is," he said, with a grin, to the laughter of his teammates who knew him so well, knew trouble was drawn to him like iron shavings to a magnet, and his pride was easily equal to his stubbornness. "Got in the way of two blokes with a knife, plus a concussion, banged up ribs, and me lungs were a bloody mess! Fever just wouldn't stop, and I'd 'ave given anything to just sleep, ya know, but seemingly couldn't. You know I can get a trifle testy when I'm ill" his mates again roaring, knowing full well how he was. 'Testy' didn't begin to cover it!

"Well, I'd been fighting them trying to care for me, Auld Maude, Marisol and young Caeide, telling them to leave me alone, that I was tired of them fussing over me, telling me what to do, expecting me to drink their teas, take their medicines, drink their flipping chicken broth, damned interfering women that they were! That I was the only one that'd 'ave a say in what I'd do, and I was saying I'd not 'ave them dictate to me!" They chuckled, {"Yes, that sounded like him when he's sick!"} more than one of them thought, LeBeau in particular, having nursed him through several illnesses. Any number of them, including Peter himself, were wistful at the thought of being fussed over like that now, teas and medicines and chicken broth, AND those damned interfering women!

He shook his head, "She stood there, woman-child that she was, 'ands on her 'ips, faced me down, and told me in a clear strong voice, "Now you just listen to me, Peter me lad." 'Me lad' - with me being a good twelve years older than her at the time, near twice 'er age, mind you!' to a few hearty chuckles. "When you're well enough to run your poker games, and well enough to do a day's work, and well enough to chase around after any likely bit of . ..." he stopped with a flush ("best not to repeat what she'd said; she'd been aware of, understanding of his more complicated desires, but no need to lay all that out to his mates!"), he coughed, and grinned, pretending he'd just decided not to continue with the words he'd intended to say, perhaps because of the woman's presence, then continued, "then, my bucko, then you can have a say in what you will or will not do. But til then, you will damn well drink what I give you to drink, eat what I tell you to eat, and rest when I say you're to rest. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME??"

He paused, lifting his head high in a proud stance, "Well, of course, I responded with something very dignified, very manly and mature". "As I recall," he said, looking around at them, grinning sheepishly and scratching his dark head, "it was something along the lines of, "well, alright, if you're going to get all bloody pissy about it!" They roared and even Hogan had to grin at this.

Peter's voice got softer, as he reminisced, "Siul a Run, she'd sing, and Coinleach Glas, and The Water is Wide, and oh, a score of others and more. There was one, Mo Gruaig Fear Donn, that used much the same music as Coinleach Glas, but seemed more soothing-like for some reason; that'd always be the one to let me get some rest when nothing else would, though she always 'esitated about singing it for some reason. But when it got really bad, I'd ask and she'd give in. I'd listen for a bit, and when I awoke, that'd be the last thing I remembered 'earing. I'd ask her to sing it in English, or at least tell me what it meant, and she'd just laugh and say "but yours is such a poor language, and so many things that can be said in a civilized tongue just can't translate fairly."

That got an appreciative laugh from LeBeau, who'd frequently taunted him about the superiority of French as a language, not to mention French food over English. His voice changed from warm and soft, to a quick, rueful crispness.

"Acourse, she also told me, when I chided 'er for mostly singing bloody Irish or bloody Scots songs, not good English songs, she told me that was because she wasn't bloody English, now was she? She also told me that obviously neither was she pure Irish or pure Scots, since if the Clan 'ad been truly Irish and dwelt in Ireland, then would Ireland be united and free, with John Bull never thinking to raise 'is flag on the shore. And if they were Scots, then I'd not 'ave to worry about understanding the words, since Scots would be the voice of the land." He paused, offended-like, "Took me a good day or more to get back to speaking to 'er after that!" he said, to the accompanyment of laughs from both his crew and Garrison's, while Goniff's interjected, "I can see that, though, I can," got him a warm gurgle from Meghada.

"Still, I liked that one, and learned to play the accompaniment to her singing when I got better, like I did some of the others, though I never could manage the words, more than a bit, and only toyed with playing the main melody."

Andrew put his guitar in Peter's hands, knowing Meghada's shoulder wouldn't be up for the strain, and said, "I'd like to hear some," and Peter glanced over at Meghada, "can you sing, if I play?"

She smiled, and nodded, and together they went thru Siul a Run, then The Water is Wide, and Andrew asked, "the first one, what does it mean? I understand the words, at least the verses, not the chorus, but not what it really MEANS."

She smiled at him, "it's very old, from when men hired out as soldiers to make their fortune. They brought their own arms, weapons that is, with them, nothing was provided for them, so the song starts when a young woman relates she's sold everything she has, to buy her love a sword of steel, for him to be better armed, since he was bound to go venturing, and how her parents cast her out, since she'd sold even her spinning wheel, with which she brought in a few pennies into the family coffers. So she makes her way as a prostitute, as a way to earn her bread, that's the meaning of 'dying her petticoats red', traveling behind the army for her love's sake; but now, he's gone even further away, all the way to France for the latest war there where she cannot follow, and she knows there's little chance of his returning to her. Few returned from that war. The chorus, well, that's her plea for him to go in safety, but, if the fortunes of war turn against him," and Andrew said, "you mean if he dies?" and she nodded at him, her having forgotten that many didn't easily understand the old phrases, "thats right, if he dies, then to call to her and she'll hear him, and she'll open the door and fly to him, that they might be together, as they'd always meant to be." No one asked what that meant; she though even Andrew understood that.

There was silence, and then LeBeau, "and the last one, the one you said let you sleep?" She looked at Peter, inquiringly, and he nodded, and took up the guitar; he played, surprised at how well he remembered after all this time, the accompaniment being extremely complicated and nothing like the melody, and she sang, soft and low, a few verses, the chorus each time, a pause then a very slow ending, even slower than the rest of the song which is meant to be played slowly.

Andrew said, "I can see that letting you rest. It's soothing, yet, powerful, somehow. Meghada, can YOU tell us what it means?"

She told him gently, "Caeide was right, you know, it doesn't translate to English well," but at the disappointment on his face, she conceded, since she'd developed a fondness for Andrew, and she knew Caeide had as well, and she felt she owned him something in thanks; perhaps she owed Peter a little something too, she thought more crisply, and might well repay both at once, with a bit left over for Colonel Hogan, though from three decidedly different spoons, so she smiled at him and said, "but I'll try. There is the introduction, three verses that are always included, whichever other ones you might include, a repeating chorus, then a final summing up. Other verses exist, certainly, more can be added, the song lends itself to that, as many of the old ones do, and the singing can get to be quite lengthy, if you'd a mind for it to be, but these, they are always included."

With a serene smile at her Professor, her sister's own dear love, Peter, proud, stubborn man that he was, she began, in a soft, reflective voice, the lilt in her voice thickening into something deeper, richer, that of bardic tradition among her own people, "In the introduction, a country girl is speaking lovingly of a brown haired laddie who lives in the nearby town, who is fair of form, and possessing of all of the virtues, and she sorrows that he'll never be hers, for she has nothing to offer, nothing but her own poor self, and a true and loving heart."

"One of the verses that are always included tells of his voice, so sweet the birds cease their own songs to listen when he sings, that when he speaks, he can gladden and lighten the saddest of hearts; that because of this, he is approached by the fair haired daughter of the wealthiest merchant in the land. She walks toward him, offering in her outstretched hands beauty, a rich dowery, and a great inheritance to come. Then the chorus, 'and I know he'll n'er be mine, for nothing have I to offer, naught but mine own poor self, and a true and loving heart.' "

"The next verse tells of his eyes, blue as the summer sky at morning, or the quiet lake that glistens in the far off mountains, eyes that can sparkle with gladness or darken with passion; that because of this, he is approached by the great lord in the high tower. He walks toward him, offering in his outstretched hands the promise of comfort and ease, wealth, and a seat of power at his right hand. Then the chorus is repeated"and I know he'll n'er be mine, for nothing have I to offer, naught but mine own poor self, and a true and loving heart. Though in some versions, his eyes are green, green as the first grass of spring, as green as the sweet willow leaf." Here, she smiled again at Peter, by now rather wide-eyed.

Her voice deepens, saddens, "The last verse is always the same and is sung more slowly than the rest. The girl, now a woman grown, sits on a hill overlooking the town. She recounts that though she has been courted by many, those who have asked her she has refused, for she'd not give false coin, and she had no free heart left to give. That not even the promise of the marriage bed or the hope of a babe at her breast, could relieve her of her memories of that brown-haired laddie. And then, a long pause, and that last discordant guitar rift, and the last bit, not a verse really, not to be sung, but whispered, as an old woman," and her voice shifts once again, now old, cracked, weary and oh so sorrowful, "And I have often thought, thru the long years, it is a sadness of this world, that a true and loving heart is held to hold so little worth."

Her voice reverts back to her own strong, pleasant one, "Well, that's the best I can switch it over to English, it goes much more smoothly in our own tongue, as my sister always said."

She realized she needed to lighten the mood; Peter was looking distinctly uncomfortable, thunderstruck might be a better word, probably thinking it had been best he'd never known what the song meant when Caeide had sung it to him during those long nights, perhaps wondering how many other of the songs he'd been best not knowing the meaning of. Well, she'd lighten the mood, but didn't intend to make him any more comfortable; he was dear to her, but he really had a bit to answer for, in her mind!

She glanced around at the others, and grinned with mischief, gave a little gurgle of laughter, shaking her head, "remember, I said other verses can be added? My brother, Patrick, that next summer when Caeide returned from London, telling us something of her time there, knowing that music, THAT SONG had played some small part, challenged her to add another verse to the song, which she did, and it was truly lovely and sweet, well in keeping for the original verses, for she has a rare talent for the old songs, though it set my brothers to teasing her fiercely, til our parents put a stop to it, saying she had more than enough to contend with after that year without their foolishness." That comment raised a few questioning eyebrows, which she serenely ignored, and a couple of looks over at Peter, which he ignored, though serene was probably not the best description for the look on his face.

"That verse, though, it set the direction for the season. In fact, it became quite a competition between my two older brothers and me, who could write the best verses for the song. Ending up, we each added a couple, maybe three, some with the more elaborate two-verse arrangement for each theme."

She gave them all a rogueish grin, with a mischievious lifting of her brows, "they were very good, actually. However, caught up in the challenge, we might have gotten just a bit carried away; each new verse or verse-set presented by us was even more, descriptive, more, you might say, extravagent? I particularly liked the ones about his strong, nimble fingers, able to undo any lock, and the high-born lady, who'd been tucked away in a chastity belt while her lord went adventuring, and what SHE was offering! There were two verses about that, the first about her predicament and what she was lacking, was offering, the second detailing his doing the task quite enjoyably for them both and then collecting on her offer!"

She listened and heard the heart-felt groan from the corner, and the snickers from elsewhere; she also was amused at the puzzled frown on Andrew's face; she knew Peter would be getting a lot of questions from the young man after this was over! Now wouldn't he enjoy that!

"I know Patrick added one about his magician's ability to make things disappear, and the offer by a religiouse about using that at a rival religious convention and the scandelous and highly Rabelassian results. We disqualified that one, though, since it dealt more with the quick change in behavior of the attendees with their clothes on versus off, rather than with the brown haired laddie himself; thought it did spur a spin-off set of songs about a traveling magician spreading mischief and mahem and ribaldry wherever he went, which became quite popular with the late-night pub set. One from Michael dealt with him filling in as bartender at the local pub, and the double entendres flew like autumn leaves in that one, I can tell you. One had him hauled up for pickpocketing, only to have the female members of the judge's family demand his sentence be his being given over into their custody, and them not releasing him for several days, pale and wan by then - both him and all seven of them!! Then there was the one about. . . Oh," with a raised brow and a quick amused look around the room, "maybe not THAT one!"

That, presented with a chuckle and another grin garnered a few more snickers and at least one outright laugh, and a dropped jaw from at least one, wondering just what THAT one might have included, considering what she'd considered it acceptable to tell!

"My brothers and I started including them when we sang the song, as eventually did many of those who heard us, for the song was a great favorite of us all, and our new verses were quite memorable," she said with a fond chuckle and a wicked waggle of her brows. "Though Caeide wouldn't use our new verses at all; just grinned knowingly when she heard them, as if thinking she could write even better ones, if she was just of a mind to. In fact, I rather think she did, it would have been far too much fun for her not to; she just never showed or sang them to anyone; still, I know her too well to think otherwise."

She shook her head, ruefully, and said, "that is, we sang them til the day Mother called us in and quite firmly told us we were to stick to the traditional verses from then on, at least when anyone else was around, though she allowed that first verse added by Caeide was well within the traditional style and could remain. As for those added by the rest of us, though, well . . ." she gave a wry twist to her face.

"Seemingly our Grandmother had been resting with a headache, and my cousin Daen had been singing the song, one of Grandmother's favorites, to soothe her to sleep. Grandmother was just about to slip into a doze, when she came to a full wakefullness, hearing the many newer verses for the first time. Mother explained to us that while she and Grandmother agreed on the merits of the verses as storytelling, and were perhaps even willing to allow to the rather impressive merits of the laddie himself," snorts and snickers now abounding among her listeners, "especially seeing that knowing grin on Caeide's face whenever she heard them being sung, (and it was a very amused look the two women gave each other at that statement), Grandmother felt that those particular highly detailed, shall we even say explicit, descriptions of the laddie's, uh, 'virtues', and the various offers made to him in exchange, in addition to all the rest, well, it was a bit more than she felt comfortable hearing sung by a six year old girl, even one of the Clan, precocious though we might tend to be!"

She smiled to herself; yes, lots of laughter, and one tall, thin, brown-haired,blue eyed (or were they green?), very redfaced Brit! Andrew, of course, being Andrew, just had to pipe up, "can you sing those verses for us, in English, Meghada?" only to have Peter jump in.

"Ain't no way that's 'appening, Andrew, just put THAT thought right out of your mind!," and a fierce repressive glare at the young woman, who just grinned over at him. He told himself he wasn't going to ask her to repeat those verses to himself, either, though he admitted to a certain curiosity; still, probably better just not to know, probably, probably . . . Though, maybe just the first one Caeide'd written?

Later, after the war, he DID ask Caeide to sing him those verses, and he knew he'd made the right description in refusing to let Meghada sing them back in camp. {"Bloody 'ell!!! Never woulda live it down, and not likely any a them woulda ever let me forget it, either!"}

Goniff murmured in her ear, "and will you write a verse for me, luv?", and her response, with her head tilted back against his, "I write all my verses for you!", brought a satisfied smile to his face as he tucked her in closer to him. Garrison let out a small chuckle of his own to see them, and they both smiled back at him, warmly, knowingly, and Hogan frowned slightly at the interaction, looking from one to the other, appraisingly.

***

They'd be heading back to the rendezvous point tomorrow night; they'd accomplished their mission, they were all in good shape for once, not even any bruises, and Garrison was congratulating himself on actually having had an easy mission for once. He realized by the time they left that he'd congratulated himself too soon. He'd been aware of the tension between Colonel Hogan and Meghada; he figured it really wasn't any of his business, but he hadn't seen anything to cause it and was curious, but wasn't figuring on any real trouble. Oh, well.

Meghada had headed down the tunnel to where their cots were, to get something from her bag. Goniff had watched Hogan giving her a look as she moved past him; it was narrow just there, but with an alcove behind him, and Hogan could have easily stepped back to give her room when she'd nodded and said 'excuse me' as she started past; he didn't, in fact, he let his hand make contact sliding along her hip.

She ignored him, other than sliding quickly out of his reach; Goniff didn't ignore it; he got up to follow her, to be sure nothing worse was to come. He got just past where Hogan stood when it happened. Casino had been laughing and telling the others about something one of the younger O'Donnell sisters had said in response to some of the guys' antics, and Hogan had muttered something from the side wall, all in a snide, suggestive but very low voice, and the small blond Englishman whirled.

"Ye need to keep your ruddy tongue to yourself, along with your 'ands!" he snarled, and Hogan's face was a picture, shocked, offended, in startled response to being braced by someone other than the Germans, something he wasn't used to, especially by someone almost a head shorter than himself, turned and moved away as if the challenge, the challenger wasn't worth responding to. The others had been too far away to hear what Hogan had said, except for Carter who was just coming into the room, but Goniff's words had been loud and clear.

Goniff followed after Meghada, Hogan had gone into the radio room, and Andrew stood there, hoping this all would just go away, but he had a feeling it wouldn't. He was really glad Peter hadn't heard what Hogan had said; it was really pretty nasty!

Garrison was aware there'd been words said, but when neither Goniff or Hogan made an issue of it later, he figured it best left undisturbed. Still, that outburst hadn't been in character for his easy going pickpocket who was usually the one to try and avoid a confrontation, not start one, and that was troubling. Everyone else decided to pretend it had never happened. 

It became an issue later, though, when Garrison was going over the local maps with Hogan in one of the adjoining alcoves that he used as an alternative office. Hogan had broached a precious bottle of actually drinkable whiskey, pouring the two of them a glass, and they were relaxed, talking, laughing a bit, talking missions, teams, other areas they had in common, two officers enjoying the comaradarie.

Garrison never thought anything about it when Hogan's hand brushed against his hip, was certainly more aware when that same hand had brushed against the base of his spine and curving lightly downwards, not quite sure how that had happened but just resolved to move over a bit in the close quarters so accidental contact wouldn't happen so easily. The last touch, that gliding and lingering of Hogan's hand to the front where there shouldn't have been any reason to have been, that was harder to put down to being accidental, he couldn't really see how it COULD have been accidental, and he still wouldn't have made an issue of it, not wanting any trouble before they left.

He had just quickly backed away a few inches, opening his mouth to tactfully end the map reading session, when he saw the movement out of the corner of his eye; saw the hand, long pale fingers tapping firmly at Hogan's shoulder, started to turn when Hogan did, and just managed to step back further out of the way of the fist that caught Hogan in the gut and then back to the jaw. Hogan went down backwards across the desk with a surprised cry, knocking things left and right, and Garrison stood in shock, looking at the icy eyed little Englishman standing there, rubbing his fist.

"Goniff! What the hell?!" and the sound of the others running, drawn by the noise, by the raised voices, to be greeted to the sight of the Colonel, now struggling to get up from his prone position atop the table. Hogan's men, his command team, were frowning, but confused; just what had happened? It looked like the small Brit had taken a swing at the Colonel, and successfully, but that didn't make any sense! And why? It was pretty much the same for Garrison's crew. What the Hell? well, that seemed to cover it! Luckily they'd all gotten along together well, had come to a liking for each other, and no one made any rash moves.

Meghada was staring like the rest, then, she started to step forward. Goniff just glanced at her, gave one sharp sideways movement of his head, and she dipped her head once in acquiesence, pulled back and stayed back, just as he wished.

"I told you to keep your ruddy 'ands to yourself, Colonel! Ye should've listened," came a snarl from a cold, harsh voice. Goniff was now leaning toward Hogan, Garrison still looking like he was in shock, though not to the extent Hogan did.

Peter shared in that feeling, first that the much smaller man had been able to take down the Colonel at all, and then at what he was implying. He looked at Meghada, to see the look on her face, realizing she hadn't been involved this time, that this was something else entirely; then, eyes widening, he looked at Garrison, knowing now what must have happened, to see the uncomfortable look on Garrison's face, now changing to a different kind of look, one of almost bemused appreciation, a look of revelation as he looked at Goniff.

Strange, an hour ago, if anyone had asked Garrison to describe this man he thought he knew so well, he'd have said something along the lines of "young, short and slender, fair, almost but not quite pretty at times, a bit of a magpie, a kind-hearted mischief-maker, harmless except on a mission."

Now, the man he saw in front of him didn't fit that description at all; oh, he was still short and slender, fair certainly, but young? No, even though he'd known how old Goniff was from his file, knew he had a few years on Garrison, he'd somehow ignored, discounted that, based on the appearance and actions of the second story man; and now, he seemed older than his file indicated, in fact. Pretty? No, not at all, almost feral looking. Harmless? Garrison thought, taking a very close look at those cold eyes, the taut, well-honed if compact body waiting to make another strike if necessary, deadly would be a more apt word.

Deadly in protection of what he considered his, his to protect, his to guard, and Garrison's eyes widened as he came to a new realization about the man, about how the Englishman viewed the three of them; he wasn't sure what he thought about it, the revelation being so new, but he had the feeling that he should be, was going to be fiercely proud, that he was someone this man was willing to come out of the shadows for. Suddenly, the bonding between the small pickpocket and the very dangerous Meghada, that and so much more, all that there was between Goniff and Garrison, it all made much more sense to him.

In a soothing voice, "it's tight quarters in here, Goniff; the whiskey made him a little clumsy, maybe, a little careless; no harm done," and he moved forward, resting his hand on the smaller man's shoulder. Goniff looked up at him, raised one arch disbelieving brow, but accepted the gentle squeeze on his shoulder as it was meant, reassurance, but also an order, no, Peter could see that, surprisingly not an order, this was not a superior directing a subordinate, but a request, a plea to stand down.

The small flaxen-haired man gave Garrison a slight nod, and stepped back, giving Hogan a cold, icy glare, and with a touch, a look, herded both Garrison and Meghada down the tunnel, somewhat to their mutual wonderment, Garrison at this new vision of his lover, Meghada at his letting everyone else see what she'd seen from the first, what he made such an effort to keep hidden.

Everyone else stood looking at each other, at Hogan, then back at each other, til Casino gave a gruff cough, "Yeah, well, as I was sayin', these two coppers, well . . ." and everyone drifted back to the bigger room, except for Peter, who pulled a handkerchief from Hogan's breast pocket to offer to his commanding officer.

"You're bleedin' a bit there, best blot it off before you muss your uniform, Sir," and turned to leave.

"Peter," but Peter didn't stop, didn't wait to hear what explanation, what reasoning Hogan came up with. He'd seen trouble coming, had seen Hogan contemplating those three, considering the possibilities for creating discord. He knew the Colonel would somehow try to manipulate the situation, what had happened, all to Hogan's benefit, and for a change, he just didn't want to hear it. Seems no one else did either.

In the big room of the tunnel, the groups had settled back down, pretty much in their original positions, no obvious lines drawn, Peter noted. Conversation was all over the place, none of it coming anywhere near what had just occurred. Seems everyone was just ignoring everything that'd just happened.

He walked over and sunk down against the wall next to Goniff, who was inspecting his hand for damages, checking the grazes on his knuckles, working his fingers to be sure they still moved well. Meghada wasn't in sight, Garrison, still with a flush to his face, was talking to Actor, who was obviously having a hard time deciding between looking concerned and looking amused.

"Right smart job that was; do that a lot, do ya?" came a deliberately casual inquiry from Peter, only to get a cautious sideways glance from under sandy lashes, then a reluctant chuckle, "no, and I'd as soon not 'ave to do it again, being as 'ow me 'ands are me livelihood, so to speak. Sergeant Major would've keeled over, e would, 'im always saying trying to teach me such was like trying to teach a fish to fly. Just," and it was a slow slide into those cold, icy eyes Newkirk had seen in the man standing over Hogan, eyes Newkirk had seen in his own mirror a time or two, when all pretense was stripped away, "shouldn't be touching what isn't 'is, shouldn't be saying those things about the girls, neither."

A knowing look, "I can see it, you and 'im, Peter; 'e's appealing, acourse, but there's something there, something not quite right; don't blind yourself to it; 'e'll be looking out for 'is own self, not you, no matter 'ow it looks, no matter what 'e says; you'll need to watch out for that afore you come a cropper." Newkirk didn't reply, hearing in the words thoughts that had been coming to his own mind more and more often recently, moved to change the subject, well, at least somewhat.

"You stepping in over Meghada earlier, then this time, Garrison; are they both yours then? Seemed like it from what I'd seen earlier, just the looks back and forth, but it's not that common, so I wasn't sure." Goniff looked at him, long, considering; he felt he could trust this fellow East Ender, had known him slightly from years before, knew from the girls what he was to the Clan, to Caeide.

He gave a crooked grin, "well, doubt it'd be possible except for Meghada being Clan; they tend to be more accepting, more willing to share than most would be, and" with a quick fond glance over at Garrison, "there's plenty of good will all around, which is somewhat rare on its own."

He gave a deep, raspy chuckle, accompanied by a rueful shake of his touseled blond head. "Don't even know 'ow it all came about, really, wasn't anything I'd planned, 'aving a taste for the simple, uncomplicated life as I do, but" with a sincere, charming grin of his own, "wouldn't change a thing now, I wouldn't."

They were chatting together, comfortable with each other, when Meghada returned with the salve and linen from her bag. She didn't say a word, just let them go on with their conversation while she knelt beside them, reached across to bring his hand closer to her, spread the salve in soothing movements over his fingers, wrapped his knuckles gently with the linen. Again, without a word, she touched him softly on his cheek with the back of her fingers, smiled at him with all her heart showing in her face, and moved away to talk cooking with LeBeau. Peter felt his heart still, recognizing that smile, that look, having seen it in a different face, in a different time, and came closer to admitting a few home truths to himself, closer than perhaps he'd come before.

Garrison had been watching, and as she left, them sharing a fond smile as they passed, he came over to squat beside the two men. He looked at Peter, warily, but a look at Goniff's reassuring smile and nod let him relax. "You okay?" he asked softly, reaching out to gently touch the wrapped hand.

"Right as rain, no 'arm done," lifing the hand to take a look at the wrappings, "all that's more for 'Gaida's sake than mine, I'd say," smiling up into the green eyes focused on him.

"You two, you've met before?" Garrison asked, seeing a comradeship he knew couldn't have grown in just these few days, even if Goniff had helped pull Peter out of that mess. Peter looked carefully at Garrison, looking for the jealousy that Hogan had shown when he'd made a similar inquiry, but seeing only friendly interest.

The two Brits looked at each and chuckled, Peter explaining, "back in the East End; well, only seems natural, you know; same part of town, same skills, at least in some parts. Didn't have a lot to do with each other, but knew each other to speak, have a game of cards, the like, knew the same people."

Goniff grinned over at Peter, raising his voice enough to include the others, "I was around when 'e was shepherding the oldest O'Donnell girl around, and I could tell you a story or two or three that'd curl your 'air for you." That had garnered the attention of the others, and relaxing back into his more accustomed role of clown and mischief maker, he related some of those remembered tales, drawing out exclamations, laughs and chuckles, and a few wry comments from the tall Englishman along the way.

"Course, my Meghada, she's a rare 'andful on 'er own, acourse," grinning over at the red-head who grinned right back again, both freely admitting a relationship that had become more and more obvious, "but at least I'm dealing with 'er when I've a better chance of keeping up with all 'er twists and turns; back then, well, all I can say is I tip me 'at to you for getting through that year without losing your ruddy mind," he told Peter, shaking his head.

"Like 'e said, a woman-child, sometimes one, sometimes the other, most of the time, though, both all rolled up together. A quiet one, til someone pushed too 'ard, then a temper that just roared up outta nowheres, and ready to back it up too, she was. Could take down someone 'alf again 'er size, no 'esitation about joining in a row, either, and right 'andy with a knife she was, too. As I remember it, there was a time or two, she 'ad your back in some serious ways; took a knife for you once, didn't she?" to the various exclamations from the others, though Andrew didn't seem surprised at the statement.

With a serious nod, the taller man said, "gave 'er bloody 'ell over that, and 'er looking at me like I'd gone mad. Asking if I'd REALLY fancied takin' a knife in the kidney or gut instead of 'er getting a little poke in the ribs! And told me even if I was so daft, well, SHE wasn't!"

Goniff continued, " 'Ad some skill, too, from what I could tell, you taught 'er well. Always thought it a shame 'er leaving so soon; you suited each other, you know, woulda made a good team," not looking over to see how Peter took that pronouncement. Goniff started to reach for his pocket, only to find Garrison already holding out a cigarette, getting ready to strike a match.

Peter took in that little piece of interaction, and grinned down at the smaller man, raising an eyebrow of his own, as if to say, {"well, so do you two, or"}with a quick sly glance over at Meghada and then back again, {"the three of you do."} And Goniff lifted an eyebrow of his own, agreeing with a huge grin.

Later, in the small back room allotted to the team, the two of them wrapped together in one of the big chairs, he murmured to her, "you didn't seem surprised, not like Craig was!" in some astonishment, only to be answered by a small shake of her head, one he could only feel, not see, in the darkened room, along with a very soft chuckle.

"Love, I've always been able to SEE you, knew what, who you are, from the time you first perched on top of my garden wall. Why else would I have been so drawn to you, wanted you so? That not-quite-so-innocent mischievious man-child you play so well, yes, he's a big part of who you are, and I love him dearly, and I would have gladly befriended him, could have easily loved him for his own self, but he wouldn't have been enough to draw me so quickly and surely, not alone, not without the rest of you. I'm Dragon, yes, but my sister Caeide, she's Wolf, her and the others; I can recognize another of that breed well enough, even one wearing such a good disguise," and she moved even closer, brushing her head against his, marking him as her own.

And if they regretted having others around them, keeping them from doing more, if they and Craig regretted that chair only being big enough for two, and the company preventing them from sharing even if it had been, well, they comforted themselves with the promise of what waited for them at home.

In one of the side tunnels, Kinch quietly asked Casino, "does it bother you, the team? Not Meghada, I mean . . ." not really wanting to put words to what had been pretty obvious, but no one had acknowledged out loud. "Does it affect how you get the job done?" to get an equally quiet laugh.

"Now? No, doesn't bother any of us too much. No matter what it's looked like this job, usually in the field it's all business. The others, they figured it out before me, and they were fine. Took me longer, and yeah, I had some trouble with it; little Limey's my best friend; was worried he was gonna get hurt, you know? Hell, had a little trouble with Meghada in the beginning, thinking maybe she was just playing games, well, before I figured out that aint how she thinks. Can't say I'm real comfortable with it all, but now it's more, with what we do? Can they handle it, if one of em gets banged up or worse; but it's happened, more than once, and they DO handle it, get the job done. So, I'm good. Have to say, don't think I ever saw him quite like he was tonight, though. Makes you wonder . . ."

Kinch wanted to say more, ask more, but swallowed deeply and didn't. Casino frowned slightly, knowing there was more on the tall moustached man's mind, "something else bothering you?" only to get a rather hoarse, "no, guess not." Then, as Casino hesitantly reached out to lay his hand on the other's broad chest and lean in, Kinch shuddered and gave in to the temptation he'd felt ever since he'd laid eyes on this man, a temptation he'd never felt before with any other man, a temptation he'd never understood before now. Somehow, now, in this dimly lit tunnel, time slowed and life took a turn he'd never expected, and knew his world view had just taken a major shift. And for Casino, well his thoughts said it all, {"hell! What am I doing??! I've always stuck to the dames, always,"} as he reached up to brush his lips against those under that moustache, moved in close to feel that strong body next to his, those arms pulling him closer. The team would be leaving soon, but for now, this time was theirs.


End file.
